


Plausible Deniability and Other Fallacies

by celeste9



Series: Distance [7]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Bathroom Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Sex, Drunk Sex, Food, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We should really stop meeting like this,” Lyle said, his voice muffled and coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Becker’s collarbone. “Except we definitely shouldn’t.”</p><p>“I hate you only slightly less than I hate myself,” Becker said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plausible Deniability and Other Fallacies

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by fredbassett, who also kindly let me borrow Lyle and Ditzy, as well as the briefly mentioned Blade and Finn. This is technically more of an outtake for the Ryan/Lester series, as it's about Becker and Lyle while Ryan and Lester appear only in the background.

The first glimmer of awareness that flitted into Becker’s brain was that he was not in his own bed. There was someone snuffling into his neck and a rather heavy arm flung across his midsection. It also felt like a thousand drummers had taken up residence in his skull and were using his brain in lieu of actual drums. 

“What the fuck,” he groaned and tried to shove the miscellaneous someone away from him.

That someone mumbled a short string of curses and refused to be budged.

Becker recognised the voice, unfortunately. He threw his arm over his eyes and said again, “What the fuck,” as his stomach turned over.

He was never drinking tequila again, never ever, he swore it. 

“Get the fuck off me, Lyle,” Becker demanded.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Lyle purred into Becker’s skin.

“There is a distinct possibility I might throw up on you.”

“And a good morning to you, too, darling,” Lyle said and rolled back onto his own side of the bed. “I’ve got a bugger of a headache, let me tell you.”

“Please don’t,” Becker said and buried his head in a pillow. He wanted to leave but he was finding it incredibly difficult to make his body do what he was telling it to. Just a few more minutes, maybe, and then he was leaving.

A painfully loud, harsh ringing broke the silence. 

“Kill me, kill me now,” Becker moaned. The pillow made for a pathetic shield. He would have registered a complaint but somehow he didn’t think anything would come of it.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Lyle swore and grabbed for his mobile, then shouted “What?” into it.

After a minute, Lyle said, “Oh, that’s just bloody uncalled for, boss.” Another pause and then, “Yeah, that’s a good word for it.” The pause was longer this time before Lyle continued, “So, you want to be smug and patronising to Becker now, too? …Yeah, he’s here, he’s sucking my--”

Lyle’s brow furrowed and he pulled the mobile away from his ear to peer at the screen. “The bastard hung up on me.”

“Shocker,” Becker said and flung a pillow at Lyle’s face. 

Okay, he was actually getting up now. He was.

Oh, shit. “What’s the time?”

“Time for pretty boy captains to be getting to work, looks like.”

Becker muttered a few choice curse words under his breath. That was the last time he was ever letting Ryan take him out when he had to work the next day. Actually, that was the last time he was ever letting Ryan take him out period. Why hadn’t the bastard stopped him drinking?

All right, to be fair, he did seem to recall Ryan protesting a hell of a lot. Really this was all Lyle’s fault. He’d suggested the tequila and he’d been the one pushing it and it was Lyle’s flat they’d ended up in. It was so Lyle’s fault.

He worked himself partway up onto an elbow and swung his legs towards the edge of the bed, trying not to give in to the pitiful moan he wanted to make. He noticed that he was naked, which put a stop to the plausible deniability thing he had going on.

Of course, there were a few very stubborn, very vivid images surfacing in his head that he was fairly certain he hadn’t imagined, so there was that, too.

Eventually Becker made it onto his feet and shuffled in the direction of what he hoped was the bathroom. It would have been the bathroom in a normal flat but as Lyle wasn’t anything near normal Becker wouldn’t put it past him to not have a normal flat.

Lyle was still lying in bed, watching him. He whistled. “I know I’ve already said this, but bloody hell, your arse is fine.”

Becker rolled his eyes but his lips were trying to smile in spite of him. “Got any Ibuprofen?”

-

Two hours into his day at the ARC, all Becker could think was that he wished he could get caffeine injected straight into his veins. Well, that and he was never, ever, ever drinking tequila again. _Ever._ He couldn’t stress it enough, really. 

He was in the break room, hunched over a cup of coffee that wasn’t nearly strong enough, when Lester came in. Becker immediately straightened, hoping at the very least that he didn’t look as hungover as he felt. 

“Ryan tells me you had a good night,” Lester said, frowning as he eyed the empty coffee pot and then opened the cabinet in search of the tea.

“Sir,” Becker murmured, curiously wondering what was up. Was Lester trying to make small talk? Was he only trying to be a bastard?

“Getting on better with Lieutenant Lyle?”

Becker eyed him sideways, attempting to gain a measure of his meaning through his expression or his body language, but Lester was as unreadable as always. “You could say that,” Becker settled on.

“Glad to hear it. Mutual… respect is always beneficial for a proper working relationship.”

“Very true, sir,” Becker said and now he was certain Lester was mocking him. Bloody Ryan.

Lester quietly finished preparing his tea and took a sip. “I hope I can count on you both to be the professionals I know you are,” he said and this time there was a hint of a warning in his tone.

“I’m always highly professional,” Becker muttered at the table. He was. The whole thing was Lyle’s fault.

“Of course, Captain, never doubted you for a moment,” Lester said, his expensive shoes sounding lightly across the floor as he left.

Becker carefully didn’t look at him until he’d gone because he was certain Lester would have been smirking at him and he couldn’t bear the thought of it.

-

“Afternoon, gorgeous,” Lyle said, sprawling into the chair next to Becker’s desk.

“I liked it better when I thought you were avoiding me,” Becker replied absently, scrolling through the inventory report.

“Avoiding you? I never.” 

“Wouldn’t mind it if you did. It’s not like we need to pretend we’re friends or anything.”

“Think we’re a bit past that at this stage.”

“Because you’ve seen me naked?” Becker finally turned from his computer screen to face Lyle. “Lots of people have seen me naked. It isn’t anything to write home about.”

“Dunno about that,” Lyle said with a leer that was truly appalling. 

Becker hoped his face adequately conveyed how unimpressed he was. “Can we just forget about it? We were drunk; I think that excuses all embarrassing behaviour.”

“Forget about it?” Lyle widened his eyes innocently, like he’d never had such a thing suggested to him before. “Aw, but honey bun, you were my first! I thought it meant something! Don’t tell me you’re throwing me aside like rubbish after our special night.”

Becker blinked, paused, and then said slowly, “Wait, what? You’re joking, right? That was a joke?”

“Nope. You popped my gay cherry, mate.” Lyle sounded remarkably cheerful about it.

“Oh, God,” Becker moaned. Where were all the predatory dinosaurs when he needed them?

-

Becker strode into Ryan’s new office unannounced and stood fuming in front of the desk.

Ryan lifted his head up and said calmly, “Yes?”

“Why didn’t you tell me Lyle was straight?”

For a moment Ryan sat in silence, looking as though he was trying to figure out what the best response would be… and possibly ruing the day he’d agreed to work at the ARC. “Honestly, it never occurred to me. I can’t say that I expected my intervention to end up with you shagging him.”

Becker felt a traitorous flush creep up the back of his neck. “Never said I shagged him,” he muttered, averting his eyes. No one had shagged anyone, exactly, so far as Becker remembered.

There was no need to be looking directly at Ryan to know how amused he was. “And I really wasn’t asking. What does it matter, anyway? Lyle might act like a child sometimes but he can certainly make his own decisions. I don’t imagine you forced him.”

“Of course not!”

“So then, details aside, there was some sort of shagging going on between two consenting adults.”

“Yes, but…” Becker ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “He’s _straight._ And I… we…”

“Becker,” Ryan said, firmly and quite kindly. “Don’t get so worked up about it. You think you’re the first man to fuck someone who thought he was straight? Guess what-- you’re not. And while I imagine Lyle’s going to milk this for all it’s worth, believe me, he gets the point of casual sex.” 

Somehow Becker thought that Ryan didn’t get the point, he didn’t understand what Becker was trying to say, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He’d rather not embarrass himself further attempting to explain.

When Becker said, “Yes, sir,” and moved away, Ryan cleared his throat.

“I, uh… I hope you were safe,” Ryan said, and this time it was his turn to avert his eyes. “I don’t know where Lyle’s been.”

Becker gaped. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“It’s just that, Ditzy’s gonna ask you. So you know.”

“Thank you, sir,” Becker said, and fled. 

-

Ditzy did ask. It was embarrassing. 

In no small part due to how completely unembarrassed Ditzy was. In fact, Becker rather thought Ditzy was enjoying himself. 

Becker decided he must be a sadist.

-

After work, Becker went for a much needed drink. It was perhaps questionable behaviour, considering previous events, but he felt he was allowed. The pub was one he went to now and again after a long day, close to the ARC, with cheap beer and decent food, and busy enough that he could melt into a corner undisturbed.

At least, that had been the plan. It derailed when Lyle rested his elbows onto the counter next to him and proceeded to order a pint. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Becker glanced around, scowling, feeling betrayed by the very building.

“Having a drink, what does it look like?”

“But this is my pub.”

“Didn’t see your name on the door.”

“Did you follow me?”

Lyle shrugged. 

“Are you stalking me?”

“That’s a harsh word, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s an apt word for when a person I don’t even like suddenly shows up, uninvited, in the pub where I’ve gone to be by myself.”

Lyle knocked their shoulders together. “Bollocks. You like me a little. At least, I know you like part of me.”

God damn it. What the hell was with this irritating urge to blush? He wasn’t doing it any more. “I don’t like any bit of you half as much as you like bits of me.”

“Fair enough,” Lyle said, and clinked his glass against Becker’s. 

He didn’t leave.

-

Becker woke up in a bed that shouldn’t have been familiar but unfortunately was, with a blessedly smaller hangover than last time but not the slightest shred of plausible deniability. “Oh, fuck,” he said, covering his eyes with his hands.

“We should really stop meeting like this,” Lyle said, his voice muffled and coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Becker’s collarbone. “Except we definitely shouldn’t.”

“I hate you only slightly less than I hate myself,” Becker said.

-

“That’s the last of them,” Lyle said, wiping a hand across his face and leaving a dirty streak behind. There was sweat beaded at his hairline and he looked about the same way Becker felt.

They’d spent the better part of the day dealing with a herd of creatures called Megacerops, which looked like rhinos but were nearer the size of an elephant. They were herbivores, but still a bloody nuisance. Connor was over by Ditzy, getting tended to after an unfortunately timed fall that had nearly got him trampled.

Becker counted it a victory that Connor’s sprained ankle was the worst injury suffered. He had no doubt those horns could have impaled someone.

Lyle was eyeing the anomaly, likely considering the chances of one of the things coming back through. That was what Becker was thinking, anyway. 

“Sometimes I wish we could just blow the bloody things to hell,” Lyle said in total seriousness.

Okay, so maybe there was one thing Becker liked about Lyle. “You and me both.” It certainly would save Becker a hell of a lot of stress, though probably it wouldn’t put an end to any of the arguments with Cutter and the rest of them. Becker didn’t understand what the big deal was about trying to preserve every last creature that wandered through. If an ant crawled over, would they piss themselves trying to save it, too? Hell, who knows how many insects might have ended up on the wrong side completely unnoticed. Surprise, the world hadn’t ended.

Somewhat regretfully, Lyle pointed out, “The geeks wouldn’t be too pleased, I expect.”

“They don’t like me much as is so I doubt it’d make much difference.”

“Maybe if you didn’t treat them like a bit of dirt on your shiny boot, when you even deign to notice them at all, that wouldn’t be true,” Lyle said and walked off.

Becker blinked at his retreating form. What the fuck?

-

The water pounded down on Becker’s head, washing away the dirt and the blood. He kept his eyes open, the spray stinging a little, and focused on the tiles on the wall in front of him. If he didn’t, if he let his mind wander, if he closed his eyes, then all he could picture was that kid’s face, the eyes wide and staring. All he could hear was the screaming as he got there too late, and then the woman sobbing - 

“I have to admit, I was getting worried you might have drowned yourself in here.”

Becker didn’t turn around. “I’m not in the mood, Lyle.”

“Which is exactly why I’m here. You are not allowed to brood on your own; it’s pathetic and sad.”

“Would you rather I ignored it? Would you rather I pretended to be happy, like nothing even happened, like I didn’t have a fucking fourteen-year-old boy die in my arms?” Becker spun around, wanting to shout, to yell and rail at Lyle, but he stopped. 

Lyle had this weird expression on his face, something that Becker didn’t want to think about too hard because it resembled caring and pity and Becker just couldn’t even cope with that.

He sighed. “Just leave me alone. I want to be alone.”

But of course, Lyle never did as he was told. “Come on, boss, get dressed. I’m taking you out.”

Becker found he lacked the energy to argue and anyway, maybe he’d get a few free drinks out of it. He switched off the shower and padded past Lyle, dripping, almost wishing Lyle would whistle or make a flirty, demeaning comment about his arse or something because at least that would have felt normal.

It wouldn’t occur to him until later that Lyle had called him ‘boss’, just like he did Ryan.

He didn’t want to think about that too hard, either.

-

Becker blinked awake. His face was smushed into a pillow (ugh, he’d drooled a bit, it was disgusting) and he cautiously lifted his head, glancing at his surroundings. The walls were painted a rather hideous shade of green because Becker hadn’t had time to repaint them yet and a knitted blanket from his grandmother had slipped off the end of the bed onto the floor.

He was in his own bed in his own room in his own flat. Oh, thank fuck.

Then he smelled the bacon frying and groaned.

Becker sat up too quickly, making his head pound, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The fact that he was still dressed in his boxer briefs and there weren’t any suspicious stains was an encouraging sign. He made his way into the bathroom for a glass of water and some Ibuprofen, and then into the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of Lyle in boxers and a t-shirt, flipping bacon in a pan on the stove.

“Morning,” Lyle said, glancing up. “Hope you don’t mind, I figured either you’d like some grease to go along with your hangover or you’d go back and puke in your toilet, in which case I’d deserve the grease for my trouble.”

“Your selflessness is truly inspiring.”

“Suspect I deserve a medal.”

“I think that rather defeats the purpose,” Becker said and levered himself up onto the counter. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, you spent the night?”

Lyle turned around to lift an eyebrow at him. “Worried if I took advantage?”

“Of course not.” Becker paused. “Did you?”

“Your virtue was entirely safe,” Lyle said with a chuckle. “Thought it might be rude to leave you, so I stayed and kept my hands to myself.”

“Thanks,” Becker muttered. He watched Lyle take the bacon out to drain on paper towels and then start scrambling some eggs. The idea of Lyle sticking around to basically watch out for him made him feel vaguely uncomfortable, though he couldn’t put a finger on precisely why.

Maybe just because it was _Lyle._ He certainly didn’t need _Lyle_ looking after him. Did this make them friends or something now?

Lyle gave him a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs on toast, effectively putting a stop to his musings. “As you haven’t run off to be sick yet, I’m assuming you would actually like some grease for your hangover.”

Becker eyed it suspiciously. “There’s nothing wrong with it?”

“It came out of your fridge. I did sniff the bacon first to make sure it hadn’t gone off.”

Becker took a small bite of toast and chewed. It did taste all right. He wouldn’t have put it past Lyle to ruin bacon and eggs, but it seemed he’d managed it.

Lyle just smiled crookedly at him and patted his thigh. “You’re welcome.”

-

Becker stood in the house several of the lads shared and felt completely awkward. He’d said hello to a few people and now wondered how rude it would be to have a beer and leave. Maybe no one would notice? 

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Becker heard Lyle say from just behind him.

He turned his head to watch Lyle approach and lean his back up against the wall on Becker’s other side. “I didn’t want to,” he admitted. “Ryan’s got this notion that I need to spend more time with you lot outside the ARC.”

“Probably so everyone else can see you don’t actually have a stick up your arse.”

“Everyone else?” Becker asked and then wished he hadn’t. He was pretty sure he knew what Lyle’s response would be.

“Couldn’t have got my fingers up there if you had.”

“It appears we’re the victims of extremely unfortunate timing, Tom,” Lester said, beer in hand, wearing, of all things, jeans. Becker hadn’t even known Lester owned a pair of jeans.

“If you’d let me have that shag I wanted before we left, we would’ve missed it,” Ryan said with a grin.

“I’m going to add that to my list of things I never want to hear ever again,” Becker said, grimacing, and raised his beer to his mouth.

“That makes us even, I think.” That particular expression, Becker was learning, was Lester’s amused face.

“I could tell you that Becker here--” Lyle was interrupted by Becker shoving his palm over Lyle’s mouth.

Ryan was still grinning. “See, you fit right in, Becker. That’s exactly what the rest of us want to do every time Lyle opens his mouth.”

But Becker yanked his hand away and wiped it on the front of his jeans. “Fuck! Did you just fucking lick my hand?”

“And we’re leaving,” Lester said, pulling Ryan along by his belt. Ryan went obediently enough.

“Makes you wonder which of them’s the top,” Lyle mused.

“No, it doesn’t.”

Lyle laughed. 

Before he could say anything, Becker followed Lester and Ryan into the crowd. He was meant to be socialising, after all, and surely anyone else would be better company than Lyle.

By the time the sun set completely, it seemed that everyone had migrated into the garden. The sound system was playing rock music and people were dancing, with Connor’s uncoordinated but enthusiastic efforts the most eye-catching. Abby was grinning widely at him and giggling, which Becker supposed was likely the point. He wondered if Connor was even allowed to be dancing yet, but then again, Ditzy would have told him off if he was doing anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Inhibitions had clearly been lowered by all the alcohol and also, Becker realised, probably by the relaxed atmosphere. He still felt rather like an outsider but it was obvious that these people considered each other to be a hell of a lot more than coworkers. Ditzy and his pretty girlfriend were necking in a corner and Blade was swaying with Lester’s assistant Lorraine, because apparently that was a thing. (No one told Becker anything, shouldn’t he know these things?) Even Lester and Ryan were leaning into each other where they were sat on the outskirts of the garden, talking softly.

Someone halted next to Becker’s spot on the steps and he didn’t need to look to know it was Lyle. “Thought you were supposed to be making friends?”

“I was,” Becker insisted. He’d spoken to people. It had ranged from devastatingly awkward to slightly less awkward. He considered that progress.

Lyle made a noncommittal noise. “Want to have a shag in the loo?”

Becker tilted his head back to see Lyle better, taking in his open-necked shirt and his hands tucked into the pockets of his khaki-coloured trousers, pulling the material a bit tighter against his arse. Maybe it was the warm buzz from the beer he’d been drinking, or maybe it was the feeling he got from watching everyone else, but Becker said, “Let’s do it.” 

-

“Good morning, Captain,” Claudia said with a bright, knowing sort of smile. “I hope you enjoyed yourself last night.”

Considering Claudia had seen Becker and Lyle ducking out of the bathroom together, there wasn’t any need to wonder exactly what she meant. “About as well as you and the professor did, I expect,” Becker said and took pleasure in the way Claudia blushed. He liked Claudia. She was nice and sensible and also possibly the only person he felt might actually enjoy his company.

“I think you overestimate the speed at which Nick moves along relationships,” she said and Becker laughed. “In any case, I am glad that you and Lieutenant Lyle are getting on so well.”

“It’s your turn to be overestimating things now.”

“Oh? So that wasn’t the two of you grinning like teenagers and zipping up your trousers?”

“No, that was us,” Becker admitted. “I’m afraid, though, that that is the only aspect in which we get on, as you say.”

Claudia studied him shrewdly. “Well, I’m no longer afraid that one of you will shoot the other in the back when we’re on a shout and claim it was an accident, so there is that.”

Becker smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, there is that.”

“Don’t sell yourselves short,” Claudia said, moving closer to him and squeezing his arm briefly. “You can shag each other and be friends at the same time, you know.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Becker called after Claudia as she walked on down the corridor.

“I know what I see, Captain,” she insisted, with a swift glance back over her shoulder.

That might be true, Becker acknowledged, but what she was seeing clearly wasn’t the same thing that Becker was seeing.

-

“We need to stop having sex in toilets,” Becker murmured, even as he worked his hands up underneath Lyle’s shirt to get at his warm skin. 

Lyle stuck his hand down the front of Becker’s trousers. “Whatever for?”

“No, we… fuck.” Becker let his head knock against the wall. “We should really stop.”

“You’d better say that again, with feeling this time,” Lyle joked and bit lightly at Becker’s neck.

Someone came through the bathroom door and Becker froze immediately, but after a moment, Ditzy’s voice rang out, “Don’t mind me, I really had to piss and couldn’t be arsed to wait for you two.”

“Don’t worry, mate,” Lyle said and carried right on with what he’d been doing. Becker really wasn’t in a position to protest.

“I’ve got a condom if you need one.”

“We’re good, thanks, Ditz.”

There was the sound of water running as Ditzy presumably washed his hands. “If you want any chips, you’d better hurry up. Finn’s demolishing them.”

Becker pulled at Lyle’s hips for a better angle, trying for more friction, and said, “We’ll be right behind you. Lyle always comes in half a second anyway.”

Ditzy chuckled, the door swinging closed behind him.

Instead of running his mouth off like Becker had expected, Lyle got to his knees and proceeded to make Becker come so fast it was just shy of humiliating. Lyle might not have had sex with a man before Becker, but he certainly learned quickly. He directed his smirk upwards. “What was that you were saying?”

-

Sometimes Becker hated his job.

Scratch that, Becker hated his job _a lot_ of the time. He hated shepherding around scientists who didn’t listen to him, he hated trying to step into the shoes of someone he was never going to measure up to, and most of all, he fucking hated the fucking dinosaurs.

To be fair, this one wasn’t actually a dinosaur. It was a huge cat, roughly panther-sized, that Connor said was called Patriofelis. Becker didn’t particularly care about that at the moment, though. He cared about its big teeth, he cared that it was very pissed off, and he cared that his gun was jammed.

Becker unsheathed his knife as the creature leaped at him and prayed like hell.

Three shots rang out and the cat yowled, tumbling into Becker before he could get out of the way. He ended up on his back with the heavy weight of the thing on top of him, thick blood soaking into his uniform.

“Christ,” he said aloud. “Oh, Christ.” He shoved the dead body off of him and raised his eyes to Lyle.

Becker accepted Lyle’s hand up and appreciated the fact that he didn’t take the easy opportunity to gloat or to be an arsehole. Instead all he said was, “I’m going to get hell for killing it, aren’t I?”

“Don’t worry,” Becker said, gaze settling on the cat. He wasn’t sorry it was dead. Maybe that made him a bad person, but he’d rather be alive with questionable morals than dead with faultless ones. “I’ll happily take all the shit Cutter and anyone else will throw at you.”

“That’s very gallant of you, boss,” Lyle said, amused.

“I’m feeling rather benevolent, for some reason.” 

“Probably on account of not being dead.”

“Yes, probably.” Becker wanted to say something about the merits of not relying on tranqs, about self-defense and kill or be killed, but Lyle wasn’t the one who would need to hear it.

Lyle abruptly changed the subject. “Want to get some food after we finish up? My treat.”

Becker found himself nodding.

-

They went to an Indian place Lyle suggested that was near his flat. Becker wasn’t fussy and let Lyle order a few things for them to share, insisting only on the tandoori chicken. They sat in a mostly comfortable silence until the food arrived and then proceeded to eat off all of the plates. Becker was starving, but he supposed getting chased by a large prehistoric cat would do that to you.

“I suppose,” Becker said, tearing a piece of naan into chunks, “I should thank you or something.”

“Think we’re past that, don’t you? Helping each other out is kind of what we do.” Lyle took a large bite out of a samosa.

“Right.” Becker still felt uncomfortable, like there was something he should say or do, even though he knew Lyle had a point. They were soldiers; someone was always going to be saving someone else.

“Just glad I got there in time,” Lyle went on. “Hasn’t Ryan told you off yet for unnecessary heroics?”

“That wasn’t what happened,” Becker mumbled. He hadn’t _meant_ to -and anyway, so what if he was… heroic, or whatever? He was head of security and it was his job to look after everyone, it was his job to keep them safe. All of them. He was the one who would get called out by Lester when things went to shit and he was the one who had to somehow replace Captain Perfect.

They ate and paid, managing to visibly surprise the waitress with the fact they’d cleared all of the plates. Lyle said, “Back to mine for a coffee?”

It was easy enough to agree.

Being in Lyle’s flat and not heading straight for the bedroom was a different experience. To be honest, Becker wasn’t completely sure what they were doing. ‘Coffee’ was generally a euphemism, but they didn’t really need euphemisms, and in any case, Lyle was in the kitchen actually making coffee.

Not wanting to look like he was snooping, Becker still walked over to a high table in the corner and picked up a framed photograph. It was of a woman, dark hair, red lips, and Lyle’s sharp hazel eyes.

“That’s my mum,” Lyle said, startling Becker into nearly dropping the photo.

He replaced it gently and turned around, accepting the mug Lyle offered him and ignoring the twinkle in Lyle’s eyes.

“She’s a proper terror,” Lyle said by way of introduction.

“So the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, then?”

“Something like that.” Lyle walked over to the sofa and sat down, crossing an ankle over his knee. 

Instead of going to sit beside him, Becker chose a battered but comfortable armchair. He tapped his fingers against the arm.

“So,” Lyle started. “We can sit here and have our coffee, making small talk, or we can just head on into the bedroom. You know where it is.”

“Is that what you asked me here for?”

“Isn’t that why you came?”

Becker exhaled in frustration. “I asked you first.”

“What are we, in primary school?” Lyle took a sip of his coffee and put it down. “Pretty sure we both know what this is.”

“Do we? Because sometimes I don’t have a fucking clue any more.”

“Don’t tell me you _like_ me, Becker,” Lyle teased, smirking all the way to his eyes.

“You’re the one who keeps shagging me even though you’re supposedly straight.”

“Are you still going on about that?”

“I just don’t _get_ it. That first time, fine, we were completely pissed, maybe you wanted to try something new. But why the hell keep doing it? Surely you could find plenty of girls to get your rocks off with. You don’t even like me.” Sometimes Becker had worried that it was… some kind of imprinting thing, or something, like a weird mix of hormones and strange new feelings, Lyle thinking Becker was something special just because he was new and different and _first._ He didn’t even know how to explain it. But he didn’t think that was right, that that was it. He didn’t know if he was sorry that it wasn’t.

“Maybe you’re just easy and I’m just a lazy bastard. No need for any wooing with you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever,” Becker said and drew himself up to his feet, intending on heading for the door.

Before he could so much as cross the room, however, Lyle stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Wait. I, uh, I’m sorry if that was insulting. You know how my mouth runs away from me.”

“Are you apologising to me? Are you apologising for hurting my feelings?”

“Yes?”

Becker tipped his head back and laughed. The whole situation was absurd, all of it, and he didn’t know what to do but laugh.

Lyle was smiling, too. “I take it my apology’s been accepted?”

“Apology accepted,” Becker agreed.

At which point Lyle leaned up and pressed a long, leisurely kiss to Becker’s mouth, encouraging Becker’s hands to settle on his hips. “Do you want to fuck me, then?”

Becker examined Lyle’s face carefully, thinking that Lyle’s word choice had been deliberate. “Do you want me to fuck you?” He let his hands trail lower, down to Lyle’s arse.

There was something like nervousness in Lyle’s expression and in the sudden tenseness of his muscles but he said, “I think we’ve already established I enjoy trying new things.”

“Maybe you should have a drink first,” Becker suggested and deliberately held himself back. He rather wanted to bend Lyle over the table with his mum’s picture on it and have him right there. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.

Lyle shook his head. “I think… You know, I’ve enjoyed the sex we’ve been having. But I think we can do better.”

“I imagine we can.”

“Then,” Lyle said, that familiar, confident, cheeky light in his eyes, “let’s go have some not drunk sex.”

_ Plausible deniability,  _ a voice in Becker’s head reminded him. Having drunk sex, even if it was repeatedly, even if it was with the same person over and over, was still entirely different from having sober sex with them. This was crossing a line Becker hadn’t even realised he’d drawn.

Becker stood with Lyle’s warm weight leaning into him and Lyle’s breath ghosting across his skin and realised he didn’t hate the idea. At all. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

**_ End _ **


End file.
